


Muggle Magic (The Super Kind)

by KTTallent



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Jewish Character, Crossover, Great Depression, Ilvermorny, Muggles, New York City, Nifflers, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 12:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16702882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTTallent/pseuds/KTTallent
Summary: Steve and Bucky know more than they should about magic -- especially since they're old and lived in the forties, where no one knew about mutants and aliens and space travel. Some people find this worrying or confusing. Other people have made it their mission to keep the two (mostly) clueless Muggles from accidentally breaking the Statute of Secrecy.ORWhere everyone keeps finding out about these strange encounters certain mutants, Avengers, etc. have had. Some wizards and witches are very amused. The Ministry of Magic is not.NOTE: This is a series of oneshots for now. They may end up interconnecting, but they're currently standalone.





	1. Bucky Sees A Niffler

**Author's Note:**

> Note: I will add characters, tags, and other warnings/information as I write more. What you see is everything there so far.

New York City was, as always, loud and busy. Automobiles honked on the roads, people yelled on the sidewalks. Buildings rose into the sky, some completed and some in construction. Advertisements were plastered on the sides of brick buildings, earning glances and at times full stops from everyday people walking the streets. Grinning civilians and smiling children made their way through the greatest city in the world. But while everyone tried, not everyone was happy. Some were hiding, whether due to fear, hatred, or laws against them. Some were poor, sick, homeless, or jobless. Some were orphans. Some were widows or widowers. The gleaming city had cold, hard innards that many inhabitants knew quite intimately.

Steve Rogers was not well known by anyone save his best friend and his mother. Not in a positive light, at least. He was quite well known for starting fights over everything from racism to catcalls to slurs used on anyone. While his mother and best friend, Sarah Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes respectively, were proud of him for standing up for his beliefs, they were sick of Steve living in a state of almost continual bruising and blood. He was sick so much, and had so many health ailments, the least he could do was stay out of alleyways for a week at a time.

“Bucky, I’m fine,” Steve said, trying to push James “Bucky” Barnes away from him as he sat at his kitchen table. He didn’t succeed in the slightest, and Bucky calmly continued to clean Steve’s cut lip and scraped cheek with a wet rag. It was Sunday, and Steve had already gotten into a fight, coming out of it more worse for wear than how he’d gone in.

Steve tried to shove Bucky away again, and Bucky frowned, stopping his treatment for a second. “Stevie, you gotta let me clean you up. It’ll take less time if you quit your complainin’, I promise.” From the day they had met, Bucky had taken on the role of protector. Steve got into a fight, Bucky was right there to clean him up and send the bullies running. Steve got sick, Bucky was there spoon feeding him Sarah’s soup and making sure he didn’t cough up a lung. Steve and Bucky were almost inseparable.

With a huge sigh and a pointed look at Bucky, Steve relented and let Bucky continue his careful cleaning. True to Bucky’s word, it was done five minutes after it started, only taking so much time because Bucky had to make sure Steve hadn’t gotten hurt anywhere else. Steve was known to lie when asked ‘does it hurt’, so Bucky had to make doubly sure.  
Once Sarah Rogers (who was a lovely woman and nurse at a hospital, as well as a widow and an Irish immigrant) came home from work, she joined the boys in the kitchen and made dinner. After that, they all sat down to eat, Sarah saying a quick Gaelic prayer before they began. That was one simple day in the life of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

* * *

 

Steve had, once again, gotten sick. He was delirious, coughing like there was no tomorrow and with such a high temperature he was putting a radiator to shame. Bucky had been staying with him for the last three days, keeping the blankets piled on his stick-thin body and the wet rag on his forehead. He had been doing his best to giving Steve water and food in the form of soups as often as he could, but Steve just kept throwing it all up. Bucky was stressed, strained, and running on five hours of sleep over the past three days.

Now, Bucky was walking down the not quite downtown streets of New York City with the gait of a man on a mission. His tired gaze lingered on shop after shop, finally landing on a large and very busy grocery store. To the left of it was a jewelry store, full of watches, necklaces, and other shiny adornments, yet empty and desolate. The Great Depression left no survivors, it seemed. To the right was a barbershop, with the iconic red and white signage out front. The view was familiar to Bucky, as he went to both the barbershop and the grocery store on a semi regular basis, the latter much more regularly.  
Upon entering the familiar grocery store, Bucky went straight for what he was looking for; canned chicken broth, for Steve, and a loaf of Challah for the next day, as it was currently Friday afternoon and Shabbat would start soon. Bucky payed for the two items out of pocket as quickly as he could, leaving the store with a quick, “Shabbat shalom,” even though it wasn’t Shabbat quite yet.

On the way back the way he’d come, as he walked past the jewelry store, Bucky glanced through the dark windows without a thought, looking away within a heartbeat. Then he stopped and looked in again, brow furrowing. There, among the lifeless and glittering objects, was a small creature. It looked like the star-nosed mole Steve had once been so excited about, relaying the information he knew and showing Bucky pictures of the oddest creature he’d ever seen. The mole look-alike was darting in, out, and around the stands and counters, stuffing shiny bit after shiny bit into its odd pouch. Bucky was almost positive star-nosed moles didn’t have pouches. Bucky stood there, examining the curious creature as it stuffed its pouch, when his sleep deprived and realized something else even odder about the creature. Its pouch wasn’t expanding. It just kept going and going, filling but never getting any larger. Bucky rubbed his eyes as the small beast let out a squeak of surprise, most likely having either seen Bucky or having gotten to the end of its endless pouch. When Bucky looked again, the beast was gone. Sighing and grumbling to himself, Bucky spent the rest of the walk back to the the Rogers’ place arguing with himself about what that thing was, and if he was hallucinating. By the time Steve got well enough to listen to him, he had almost forgotten about it, passing it off as the effects of getting nowhere near enough sleep.

He didn’t have another encounter of the sort for years. The first time was simple and small. The next time, not quite so much.

 


	2. Charles Learns a New Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles Xavier is puzzled, and then isn't.

Charles Xavier was no stranger to odd or abnormal things. He himself was ‘odd and abnormal’. But while most odd interactions he had were able to be put into two categories, human or mutant weird, some didn’t seem to fit in either box.

Take the first of September, 1965. Charles and his wheelchair were rolling down the sidewalk, with Charles on his way to the train station and his wheelchair simply letting him do so. As he rolled along, his mind was letting in white noise from the minds around him, as usual. He wasn’t digging into any minds, and it was just the baseline for his mutation. Blocking out the sensations and noise of every mind around him would be just like taking away the use of his sight as well as his legs. It wasn’t going to happen, not if Charles could help it.

 _These No-Majs and their boring little lives. Hah!_ Charles’ head jerked around to search for the person who had thought that odd thought. A young man, perhaps seventeen and very haughty looking, walking in the same direction as Charles was instantly recognized as the ‘culprit’. His thoughts felt exactly the same, even just from the brief brush Charles did against them. Charles eyed the young man curiously. He was wearing long blue robes fastened at his neck with a gold Gordian Knot, and garnering more attention than just Charles’ due to it. Some other New Yorkers were just glancing at him, some were staring, and two or three were downright whispering behind their hands as they looked at him walking past.

What Charles wanted to know wasn’t who or what this person was -- although they could be a mutant -- but what a _No-Maj_ was. Charles was flummoxed. It sounded like a very everyday term for this boy, but it was a word Charles had never heard before in his life, which, to be honest, didn’t really happen all that much.

So Charles let himself be confused. He wasn’t about to go prying into this boys mind over something as silly as a word Charles was unfamiliar with. He just kept pushing himself along in his wheelchair, wanting to get on that train as soon as possible. 

* * *

 

Then it happened again. Charles was at the train station by then, rolling through the crowds as he went to the right platform. His train was going to depart in less than fifteen minutes, and who knows how long it would take for Charles to make his way through the crowded station. It was much busier than usual, that was for sure. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t notice the many strange minds as quickly as he usually would have.

 _Mom is gonna make us late to the platform, looking at all the No-Majs like they’re from outer space_ , came from a girl of fourteen or fifteen, wearing the same sort of robes the boy from before had except cranberry colored instead of blue. Charles felt like he should know what that word meant. No-Maj.

 _Why does every pureblood think No-Majs are weird?_ questioned a twelve year old girl who was walking with her father. She was wearing normal clothing, but an odd stick was poking out of her back pocket. It almost looked like a toy wand, Charles mused. That word again. No-Maj. Charles was getting to the point of frustration. Why didn’t he know what it meant?

A fourth mention of the word No-Maj in his vicinity made Charles finally give in. He stopped rolling along, making sure he wasn’t in the middle of the walkway, and put two fingers to his temple. He quickly searched for anyone thinking about the word No-Maj in his general vicinity. When he did, he almost choked on his own spit in surprise. No less than twenty people within thirty feet of him were thinking about the word, at least in passing. He searched more closely. There, an old man of perhaps sixty, walking with a normal looking family. There, a seven year old boy with his mother and father, all three of them dressed no different than Charles. And there, a girl of eleven or twelve, dressed in blue robes, with her father wearing _patterned robes and a matching pointed hat_. Charles shook himself. This was not the normal crowd at the station. Why today?

After almost three minutes of brushing minds and trying to figure out what was going on, he caved. Charles dug deeper.

A middle aged man, perhaps around forty, walking with his two children, twins of around sixteen years old. Charles let his mind connect to the man’s, feeling his way into it. Memories of his children growing up. His wedding. His wife’s miscarriage. Going to school-- Now that particular part of his life. That wasn’t normal. So Charles went deeper still. Walking through a wall to board a secret train, leaving the U.S. on the train in order to go to a school in Canada. Seven years of education. _Magic_. Charles wasn’t quite expecting that one. While he was well versed in the realm of mutants and mutations, this magic didn’t seem to have an explanation in the realm of science and biology. No DNA reasoning. Charles kept looking, trying to wrap his head around it. Fantastical beasts, known only to Charles through books on mythology. Many weren’t even recognized from the books Charles had pored over in his youth. Spells and secret worlds. WIzards, witches, werewolves cursed by the full moon. Squibs.

 _No-Majs_.

Charles leaned back in his wheelchair, a curious smile on his face. The answer was so simple, he realized. He was a No-Maj. Hank was a No-Maj. He assumed that every other mutant and he knew was a No-Maj as well. He could be terribly wrong, but he had seen no hint of mutants in the man’s memories, and the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry didn’t seem like the sort of place where a mutant would have to hide their abilities. No, it seemed to Charles that the two worlds mixed less than the worlds of humans and mutants!

Laughing quietly to himself, Charles went on his way as he continued to the platform. He didn’t want to be late. And if he heard a whisper in the mind of a witch or wizard, well. It wasn’t his fault if he smiled knowingly, was it now.


End file.
